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Literature
Oxygen Machines
Perhaps,
one day,
this rusted body,
cramped and old
could be of use again,
like the old times,
when it followed the orders
of a not so wasted brain
which directions were clear,
like the oxygen that fueled its system
When the headquarters were clean,
and clouds of the same kind,
of that of morphine,
would sometimes develop,
occasionally,
blocking the operations,
and infecting,
the database of the system
with the virus,
of dreams and desires,
the effects of a sweet drug,
(an unnecessary extension)
Perhaps,
the database couldn’t decode
the hidden message;
the side-effects,
links to a bitter aftermath,
when the virus corrupted
way too much,
way too deep,
leaving behind,
a corrupted system,
side effects
to an incompatible
operative system
Perhaps,
directions stopped to be sent,
when the system,
broken and unfixable
stopped responding
to the pulsations,
of the incompatible extension,
electric waves
that failed to re-active
and restore
the dazed core,
where the cloud
had settled permane
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Literature
The painting on the canvas
What if the ocean fell in love with the moon?
It started long ago, when the moon looked up and saw the moon praying in the dark sky. The moon prayed for her ill twin, the sun, who was very sick, and cried tears of light that illuminated the sky and fell into the ocean. Her grief was so big, the ocean could understand her affliction, for her tears were so honest and pure not even the saltiness of the sea could ignore. Soon, the two fell in deep love, and the tears turned into sweet ballads of tenderness and innocence. Every night the moon would rise and the feeling of coziness soon replaced the sadness of their spirits. Unfortunately, every night the moon had to die in order to give strength to the sun, so she would leave, but not before promising that she would return with more life than before. And every time the moon was reborn, the ocean would grow greater and stronger, full of life and vitality, for she would come back widder and brighter, flooding the canvas with her light, a cele
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Request by Scaretted Request :iconscaretted:Scaretted 2 1
Literature
Sin titulo
Se me subió, la oscuridad callejera
cuando cargaba una alegría mañanera,
me desbordó un desconsuelo viajero
reduciendome a un animal rastrero
Corrí para tirarme desde el muelle
como un perro al árbol cuando muere,
no había manos que me sujetaran
tampoco palabras que me impulsaran
Con un extraño ánimo salté al agua
y dejé de ser una estatua,
dejé que inundara hasta mis organos
deslizando de mi vida los ánimos,
Por un momento ahogué mis pensamientos
y sin escudo abrazé mis sentimientos,
escuché el susurro de una voz inexistente;
nada nuevo, casualmente persistente
Tratando de convencerme de subir a la tierra
¿por qué habría yo de vivir en esa fiera?
justo cuando consideré subir al muelle
perdí mi voluntad, esa fuerza que mueve
Tracé una sonrisa y me dejé caer hondo,
directo al olvido, directo al fondo.
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Request - rockiecuff by Scaretted Request - rockiecuff :iconscaretted:Scaretted 4 1
Literature
Morning
I love the freshness of morning’s blood,
and the pleasant essence of wet leaves
when autumn’s sadness turns into a flood
to drown the drama; that really relieves.
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Literature
The Cycle Of Life
-Where do people go to when they die? –asked the little kid to her old grandmother sitting in a swinging chair.
The old lady stared at her grandchild with eyes of love as she swung with peace and smiled at the little kid.
-Well my little sweetheart, when people passes away it is said they cross the tunnel of life, remembering all the experiences they had in the life they just left behind. People often cry repenting of their errors, they also smile for the happy memories they are seen and then get sad too because those happy memories will be left behind in a life they will never touch again. While they see their memories, mistakes and achievements, they are getting prepared to coming back to this world.
-Coming back to this world? –the little kid unable to understand asked.
-Yes my love, after dying and seeing our memories and after getting prepared for coming back, we come back to this world but in a different life, therefore, a different body and a different mind, the only
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Literature
A Weary and Anorexic Mind
Patrick Anderson was a man whit special ambitions and special methods and it is impossible to know what his goals are.
He is successful at the things he does, and there’s no obstacle to stop him.
The only thing he couldn’t do was to sleep, but don’t worry, we won’t turn this into another insomnia-obsessed-story.
He couldn’t sleep without listening to something. He couldn’t sleep in total silence, neither within a crowd.
To avoid sleeping disorders, he began to listen to lullabies at night with his headphones, to keep the music in his ears and mind.
It worked and for a few months he could climb to the sweet cradle of dreams using the moon as its ladder.
But after some months had passed, he got bored of the lullabies that achieved to lull, and soon, those lullabies were left to be part of the past, and they were replaced with recorded whispers of comfort and soothing voices.
But as time ran away, those soothing, calming whispers also bored his hard-to-
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Literature
The Heart Of A Tree
Elicia ran through the forest covered by the veil of the night and fog. Without been able to see the way she was running to arrive her destination. The dark, rustling path full of trees and branches was long as Elicia couldn’t tell and without knowing the directions she was blindly following he hoped to get as soon as she could to the place she wanted, only if she didn’t get lost.
Stepping on mud puddles that stained her dress with brown dirt she kept running across the forest, guided only by her instinct and her hope.
Hope, that was the key.
A cool breeze of the fresh air grazed her chest, almost making her fall but with the strength of the perseverance for reaching the place she wanted, she continued, until the weather turned chilling and the fog was less thick. She had arrived to that special place, a pretty special place…
In front of her, a big and giant, coarse tree stood with majesty, shinning little round lights in its naked, strong branches.
Those weren
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Literature
The Cradle Of Insomnia
I just couldn’t sleep, no matter how much I closed my eyes, shadows wouldn’t go away; they were there for me, to embrace me when no one did, to comfort me.
No matter how much I tried I would never reach a deep slumber, not even a little dream, even if my weary eyes begged me to close them, I wouldn’t because whenever I did, shadows will surround me, embracing my cold shaking body.
Is not that they were evil shadows, but I was scared, scared that these shadows which loved me and whispered in my ears invitations to leave to a “better place” would take me without my permission when I closed my eyes.
I just wish I could lay on the cradle of the moon for a moment, and listen to its lullaby, away from the whispers of the shadows that desire my presence among their dim existence.
They said we were similar beings, that soon we would be one, sleeping with joy between the mother darkness, sleeping forever in the eternal silence.
They say, crooning, that peace will f
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Literature
The Starving Crow
-¿How many years have you tolerated?-asked the crow to the man who laid weak on the floor. –How many years have you been suffering? Suffering in your anxiety, in the despair that impulses your mind to run away from yourself, but you haven’t achieved it, have you? No, you haven’t, you’re still thinking, thinking in the way you’re sinking, how you left everything behind, oh I forgot, it wasn’t that way, it was the everything which left you behind, poor miserable stray-
-My heart freezing, my mind in flames, my soul taken by the fear,  my humanity twisted, my identity taken- mocked the crow repeating and repeating the thoughts of the man, who wasn’t thinking with his mind, but with his soul.
-Why don’t you walk away? Oh I forgot, you can’t, you lost the control of your body; why don’t you say something? Oh that’s true, you can’t speak this shameful truth; why don’t you look at me? Oh that’s right, you
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Literature
Dead Flowers
“Empty” they said.
-He is empty, he’s nothing, he is just full of nothing… -the little boy listened to the voices in his mind, mocking memories of past years and days.
“How could something like that exist?”
“ What is he?”
“ Is he a demon?”
“ Rumors say he isn’t human, maybe he’s a monster“
-did you see his face?- a woman asked to her companion, whispering with her hand covering her mouth, like if she was telling a secret, a dirty one –He has no emotion, he is Empty-
But the little kid, whose interior was full of pain and sorrow, could hear it all, and of course, he could feel the pain.
Because humans always judged before giving themselves the time to know someone.
This little kid whose feelings were turning just into loneliness, sadness and pain, knew everything said about him. That he was a monster, that he didn’t feel emotions, that he was a beast, curse
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Literature
Monologue Of Woods And Thorns
Things didn't use to be like this…
I didn't use to write long monologues about you, and you didn't use to be pale as snow.
The darkness of her soul
has stained her pure heart,
you can just scream and howl
for your forgotten broken part,
again loneliness and numbness
will be the ones to stop your dawn,
shadows of the ones like you, hopeless
they will eat the sun, for you the spawn,
a useless object made of wood and dirt,
a pitiful and fake broken stance
one night  with death you will flirt,
for ye forgotten soul, forgotten romance,
begging for a new life, away from this sadness,
to end this life, the only proof of sanity
being dragged down by the shadows of madness,
you're just a pitiful reflect of a non-existing reality
-You were never real, you were an illusion, just  like this pitiful lie called "life"- A man said as he stood before the gravestone of her beautiful
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Hello, I haven't been here in a rather long time. To be honest, I wasn't thinking of logging in here on dA because I've come to dislike this account, and many other things (reason why a lot of my work has been deleted). Anyway, the reason why I'm writing this journal is because I want to ask for you help. One of my best friends, a lovely guy, he needs to earn $5000 (american dollars) because his dog isn't doing well lately and he needs surgery. Of course, surgery is a very expensive thing, and he really loves his dog. He is a lovely person, full of love, respect, intelligence and everything a good owner must be.

Please, help my friend. I'm leaving the link here so you can donate:
www.gofundme.com/helplukerodri…

We understand donations are not always a possibility, so sharing is totally okay. But please, help him.

He loves his pets a lot, so if his pets dies it's gonna be a really big deal. I don't want him to be in pain.

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Scaretted

Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
I don't leave my morals at the door anymore.
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:iconforestofairies:
ForestoFairies Featured By Owner Jun 18, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
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:iconscaretted:
Scaretted Featured By Owner Aug 17, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you. I left a comment there.
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:iconlobika:
LOBIKA Featured By Owner Aug 20, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
hola como estas?
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:iconscaretted:
Scaretted Featured By Owner Aug 30, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Hola, cuánto tiempo. Estoy bien, ¿tú? ¿Cómo va todo por allá?
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